


Bounty

by them1ghtypen



Series: A Fire Still Burns: Anthology [4]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/them1ghtypen/pseuds/them1ghtypen
Summary: Rukia is a thief, on the run until she meets a US Marshall that plans to take her back to Missoula. Of course, things are never that simple.





	Bounty

**Author's Note:**

> I read a bunch of Western books and this is what ended up happening with my muse. I wrote this relatively quickly, but it’s just been sitting for…well, a WHILE (like years). It was completely finished and edited, so I figured I'd publish it, and here it is.

Her small fist clenched tightly around the money purse so it wouldn’t rattle as she stepped quietly to the door. Her delicate fingers touched the doorknob, and she sucked in a breath. Almost there. As her hand closed around the shaped metal, she heard a hammer cock behind her.

She froze, her blood turning to ice. Well, damn.

“I wouldn’t open that door if I were you, miss.”

A quiet scoff wrenched in her throat. He was still going to call her ‘miss’ after everything they’d done? Her hand on the doorknob clenched harder and she could almost sense him give a start.

 “Don’t do it. I swear I’ll pull the trigger.” She could hear the battle in his voice. She noticed that he didn’t say he’d put a bullet in her – just that he’d pull the trigger. Where the bullet went was up to him. She didn’t want to depend on that.

“Will you?” She glanced back slowly, barely, over her shoulder.

“I don’t want to. But I will.” No battle this time. His face betrayed nothing. She was so good at reading people. Where had that gone?

 “I know.” That she could read. But anything else about this man… She couldn’t see a thing.

 “Sit down.”

A dark, finely sculpted eyebrow rose at the command. At this she saw the first hints of anger in this man’s stoic face. How different he’d looked last night.

He let out a frustrated breath. “Damn. Well, you’re forcing me. You’re under arrest.”

Her hands went completely lax. The money clanked on the ground but she didn’t care. “I beg your pardon?” she said, shock giving way to anger. “What the hell kinda right do you have to arrest me?”

 “I’m a US Marshall, and you were trying to steal from me.”

Well, major damn. She was completely doomed now. They would hang her for sure.

 “Sit down,” he ordered again. They stared at each other for a few long minutes before she huffed and moved to her right to sit on a rocking chair near the dying fire. He looked content with that, then moved out from underneath the blankets. Her face immediately heated, even though she’d seen him completely last night. She swallowed heavily, cheeks burning, her curiosity outweighing appropriateness as she snuck glances as he lazily pulled on his dusty trousers.

From out of his bag as well he pulled a folded piece of paper, and nonchalantly tossed it to her. She felt insulted. He seemed detached, uncaring, and that was so different from how he’d been last night. Sure, she’d been detached from her previous ones, but none of them had ever been so attentive to her like this man had.

Still, she picked up the paper and stretched it out, her hands trembling slightly when she read what was on it. The hair was different, but it was her face, and there was a reward for two hundred dollars on the bottom. A wanted poster just for her. Had the circumstances been different, she would have laughed and felt pride in it. But not now.

The name on the bottom said Sally Thompson – her last alias. Good thing they didn’t know her real name.

Panic shot through her and she looked up at the Marshall’s face. But he did. She’d told him last night…

 “Let me tell you, it was hard to find you, Sally. Or is it Rukia? The men who complained kept talking about a blonde slip of a thing who was marvelous in bed – even better than the saloon girls. Was able to do things with her tongue and body…” He gave her a sidelong glance, and she flushed, angry that she felt ashamed. “But we could never find you.”

 “So how’d you find me now?” Despite feeling shamed at this man’s assessment of her, her back straightened and her chin lifted as she stared at him defiantly.

He smiled slightly, and she hated how he looked so damn attractive when he did that.

 “I saw this little slip of a woman walk into a saloon with no worry about the rowdy men inside. Downed five shots like it was nothing. I was impressed. But there was something about your manner…”

 “And even you fell for my tricks, Marshall,” she said haughtily.

He didn’t seem offended. “Ah, that I did.”

_Ten hours prior…_

She looked in the purse, scoffing at the amount of coins in the leather pouch. It hadn’t even been worth it. She slipped out of the door unseen and unheard and quietly moved to a room down and across the hall. Once inside, she practically ripped the blond wig from her head.

With a vicious flick of her wrist she flung the offending thing against the wall, tears coming unbidden to her eyes as frustration wrung her heart in her chest. Dammit. At this rate she’d never make enough money. This man had looked rich, but by now she realized it been stolen clothes. Shame on her.

And shameful she did feel. So many months of whoring herself out to men in different towns, stealing their money bags and changing her appearances. She felt used and dirty and no amount of bathing would ever scrub away the shame.

Damn she needed a drink. Maybe, if she found one more victim – and a truly rich one at that – that could be the last one. She’d make enough to get a good, small homestead, and she would finally be able to fulfill her promise. She’d garden, sell her crops…

A snarl of disgust rose from her lips. Who was she kidding? No store owner would buy crops from a woman. Not now, and probably not ever.

Rukia Kuchiki sank onto the bed, eyes watering, but only enough to let a few droplets escape. She had thought she was so close to her goal – so goddamn close – and yet only a few measly coins were left in that purse. Enough to buy her five whiskeys to drown out her feeling of failure and shame. How women did this for a never-ending job was baffling to her.

But she would be strong. She had to be. She sniffled, cleared her eyes and changed her dress. For once she would simply be her. At least, to an extent.

The dress was violet, a deep, impossibly rich color that heightened the glow of her flawless skin. It made her ebony hair stand out rich and shiny, her purple eyes shine like gems. It faded the redness around her irises, and she almost looked like she used to before she had begun painting her face and spreading her legs.

Tonight she would be herself – a lady entering the saloon with the sole purpose of drinking her sorrows like every cowboy on the trail ever had. No false personality, no paint, no pretenses.

Once outside the hotel, she noticed the flurry of movement – all beginning to pool at the saloon. It was only eight, but she knew – courtesy of the man she had just robbed – that a cattle drive was moving through town and this must be other ranchers’ hands moving cattle to Missouri as well.

The quaint, little town of Lost Souls was famous tonight.

It was such an odd name, though she could understand why. A wagon train had settled here – built a few raw houses and the makings of a hotel but had been slain by Indians shortly after arriving. More settlers had come west and thought it a wonderful place to stay.

Yet upon arrival they had saw the bones of five families, and though the new settlers had mourned them, they still decided to remain. In honor of the families, they had adopted the name of Lost Souls, and it seemed a perfect name for a town in the middle of Colorado that received the most travelers. These were mostly ranch hands pushing cows to Kansas, but since the gold rush in 1858, latent miners were still passing through various towns and larger cities.

With all these men coming through that could be killers or wanted men or just ordinary folk, they were all “lost souls” to the shepherd Preacher Davis. She had met him once, and didn’t necessarily want to meet him again. He had a gaze that made it seem as if he knew all her secrets.

She shook her head of such thoughts. She _really_ needed that drink.

So, with chin up and steps purposeful, she strode into the saloon as if she completely belonged there. The noise was deafening and the men raucous, and more than one was laughing loudly and leering obviously at the saloon girls flouncing around in bright dresses, painted faces and faux smiles.

She walked directly to the bar, and promptly scowled viciously. Of course the bar would be just below eye level. Most days she cursed her short stature. With a growl she jumped onto a bar stool and carefully schooled her face, folding her arms slowly onto the sticky countertop as she eyed the bartender.

He was just staring at her, mouth slightly ajar. _Men_ , she thought, and inwardly rolled her eyes.

 “Three whiskeys, please?” she asked, unable to keep the slightest hint of irritation out of her voice.

If nothing else the poor bartender looked even more shocked. She gritted her teeth as politely as she possibly could. When he still wasn’t doing anything but staring – his eyes lingering on her face, then longer on her lips, then down to the not-completely-modest neckline of her dress, her patience snapped.

 “Bartender!”

Her shout didn’t even garner the attention of anyone sitting at the damn bar. But the man blinked, and finally shook his head. He gathered three shot glasses, filled them, then glanced furtively at her as he continued washing and drying glasses.

 _Damn men,_ she thought again just before she downed her first glass. It burned like fire down her throat, but then pooled warm and hot and acidic in her belly. She swallowed, feeling the alcohol remaining on her tongue, and picked up the second shot. Downing that, she felt her throat begin to numb, and instead of acid in her stomach, this time it was toasty, comforting fire that spread to her limbs. With the third shot she tasted nothing and felt the liquid settle heavily.

She felt a contented smile tug at her lips. Things were so much simpler when she had this blissful warmth stealing through her limbs. There was no more shame. No more “not enough money.” Just no worries.

 “Isn’t that a bit too much liquor for a girl like you?”

The good feelings vanished. Her smile disappeared immediately. She whipped her head around, ready to snap at whoever dared to say that before her eyes caught a glimpse of the man next to her.

He was dusty and looked weary; he was probably another cowpoke moving cattle, but despite his weather-worn appearance, she had never seen one so damn good-looking. His clothes were slightly loose and did nothing to hide the shape of his lean body. A thick leather gun belt sat low on his hips, one slung in each direction to hold the two gleaming pistols. His shirt was rolled up to his forearms, giving her a glimpse of skin before her eyes finally met his.

Everything inside of her body lurched. It was really the only way describe the feeling that assaulted her when she looked at him. His eyes were a sharp, rustic amber, and while he was physically exhausted from his journey, those eyes were on _fire_. Staring at him was equivalent to downing a fourth shot of whiskey – warmth pooled low in her belly and spread to her limbs, leaving her lightheaded. In the dim light of the saloon, his hair looked orange.

His lips quirked, drawing her eye, and she remembered what he’d said. Anger bubbled up from the pit of her stomach.

 “And how do you know a woman can’t hold her liquor?”

 “One of these saloon girls? Sure,” he shrugged. “But you’re half their size. So, half the liquor.”

She deadpanned. “Your logic astounds me,” she muttered sarcastically. She turned away, warmth forgotten. It didn’t matter if he was a sight for sore eyes and would probably be one of the better lays she’d had in a while. He was probably not worth much, and she had promised herself no more for tonight.

 “Bartender!” she screamed. Now the guy just looked annoyed, but came over as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Two more whiskeys.”

He raised an eyebrow and grunted. “Coins first, lady.”

She scowled but brought forth the measly five coins from the previous man, shame making her stomach drop again. “Hurry it up,” she demanded.

He leaned in closer, his eyes angry. She would have liked to scoot away, but her pride refused. “I’ll get you those last two, but that’s it. You’re distractin’ my customers, so after that git yer princess ass outta here.” His thick hands clunked the full shot glasses onto the counter.

Rukia downed them in quick succession, needing them to destroy her inhibitions. Her arms ached with want, but her conscience forbade it. As the liquor swirled in her belly and buzzed through her veins, her conscience was clear – even if her vision wasn’t. With quick movement she leaned over the bar, tiny hand balling into a fist and smashing into the bartender’s nose. He howled at the snap, and blood gushed onto his lips.

No sooner had the man landed on the ground when someone else punched another person and everything escalated from there. Poker tables were overturned, chairs were crushed and she just stood there staring, grinning like an idiot.

A man came over and swiped her off her feet, paying no attention to her squeal of protest. Anger soon replaced her surprise, and she reached her foot down as best as she could and jammed her toe into the man’s family jewels. He howled and let go of her to clutch his balls, at which time she cocked her fist back and let it fly again.

He, too, fell to the ground clutching his nose, and her eyes glittered. It had been so long since she’d been in a brawl.

Suddenly, she was on the ground, the room spinning and the noises filtering together, her own panting loud in her ears. Damn, why couldn’t she see straight? Her head ached and her jaw felt loose.

Her stomach lurched as she was hefted into the air _again_ , but this time, even with the room blearily spinning, she could tell they were heading outside. The cool air met her face, and she sighed. She hadn’t realized she’d started sweating. It felt good, too, and she closed her eyes to ease the ache.

She opened them again as her feet touched the ground, and she could hear everything more clearly now. The saloon was now filled with brawling men, and she couldn’t help that laugh that burst out of her lips.

 “What’s so funny?”

She recognized the cowpoke’s voice, and silently thanked him for taking her out of there. He looked irritated. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take you to the sheriff for startin’ a brawl in the saloon.”

She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop laughing. “I haven’t…started a brawl…since I was fifteen.” She closed her eyes. “That was so good.” Her knuckles ached, and she rubbed them, but it had been worth it to take out those two goons.

 “You’re drunk,” he growled. And somehow, even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could almost _hear_ the scowl on his face.

 “No,” she chuckled. “Just a little buzzed. But I’ve never felt so dizzy before from just five shots…”

He huffed. “Someone punched you. Not full contact, but he grazed you good.”

 “Ah, that would explain it,” she smiled.

 “Why are you being so cavalier? You’re dressed like a lady, speak like a lady, yet you’re anything but!”

She opened her eyes and stood quickly, ignoring the fact that he suddenly had three heads. “I _am_ a lady. It’s not my fault I like to drink, swear and enjoy things that men do. Just because I’m laughing at a brawl does not discount me from being a lady. So what if ‘ladies’ are supposed to be shocked by fights, shocked by men’s advances and only expect the finer things in life? They’re all stuck-up, selfish and lazy. They cry and throw tantrums when life isn’t fair. They don’t know how to sacrifice, or recognize the important things in life. I’d rather be me a hundred times over!”

Rukia winced and brought a hand to her temple. Damn. Now that she’d started yelling her head hurt even worse. Not to mention she had just spouted out all her frustrations and she wasn’t sure she even answered the question. If he had even asked one. She swallowed. “I _am_ a lady,” she insisted.

But after a few seconds, the cowhand still hadn’t said anything. She looked at him, and noticed he was smirking. “Sounds just about right to me,” he murmured.

His simple comment threw her. She flushed, though she couldn’t understand why. “What do you mean?” she grumbled, reluctant to give up her anger.

He shrugged. “I’ve always secretly thought the same thing myself. My mother raised me not to be tricked by women in all their finery. Some of them are just fine, but there’s something to be said for a woman that can wear a dress like that and make a man bleed, and dress for Sunday church just as quickly as she drinks, and quickly bring a man to his knees just as passionately as she’ll love him.”

The look in his eyes was one of questioning, as if he were waiting for her to make the next move. She was breathless, but perhaps that had more to do with the fact that (thankfully) he now had two heads instead of three. Rukia tried to look more put-together.

 “Go on.”

 “She would always tell me to find the fiery ones, the ones with bite, the ones that could just as quickly win a gunfight as she could please a man.”

He smirked, and her breath left her.

 “What’s with all the opposites?” she growled, refusing to let go of the tenuous hold she had on her anger. For the first time in her life, words were affecting her. The way he said them, with that little bit of naughty, little bit of nice hidden in the tones of his voice had her stomach trembling.

 “Perhaps because a woman who does all that is more likely to be honest, true to herself.” He shrugged again. “Those that don’t just seem…two-faced to me. And I’ve met my fair share of women.”

 “Oh, I bet you have,” she scoffed.

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked sharply.

 “Precisely what it sounded like, asshole.”

For a moment he looked stunned, then he laughed quickly. It was such a shocking sound: loud, boisterous and wholesome. But she found herself drawn to it because this man’s laugh was _genuine_. She’d seen a lot of duplicity in her life.

He stepped in closer, crowded her, and for a moment her thoughts stopped. They jump-started again when his rough, calloused hands traveled with the utmost gentleness up her arms.

 “What are you doing?” Her voice came out rough, sharp and quickly, but her body was anything but strong. Her knees trembled. Did he mean to kiss her? She violently hoped not, and yet the thought smoked through her mind like a slow-burning fuse.

 “I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered.

 “Why?”

He chuckled and her body heated at the embarrassing quiver in her voice.

 “Because lips like yours deserve to be kissed.”

She scrunched her nose. “That is the most horrible line I’ve ever heard.”

He smiled brilliantly, and it lit his whole face. “And that’s why you should be kissed, and kissed repeatedly.”

 “I don’t get it.”

 “Because you aren’t taking any bullshit. Because I can tell you are saying exactly what is on your mind. And you’re not running away.”

 “Why would I do that?” As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes widened. Blood rushed to her face and she felt mortified. Damn, she needed to stop drinking.

But he took her question seriously, and answered, “For you, I would guess it was mostly pride. But maybe a little attraction?”

She could hear the hope in his voice, and as the mortification slowly faded, it was replaced with curiosity. This man wasn’t like most others. He wasn’t just taking it, even though most men would construe her actions as an invitation. There was patience in his body language, and he was waiting on her. And for the first time standing with a man, she felt free of the pressure to be something she wasn’t. Next to this man, she felt entirely like herself.

Rukia must have taken longer than he liked to answer, because he shifted and drew back a little. She followed, almost involuntarily. He stopped, looking slightly more hopeful.

 “May I?” he whispered.

She inhaled slowly, and nodded on the exhale. He didn’t rush in like she expected, but he merely paused. The moment lingered, gaining anticipation as he moved slowly towards her, his body heat enveloping her in a lingering hug.

For such rough hands, they were exceedingly gentle as they slipped up her arms to cup her neck, his thumbs just brushing her jaw. Such caresses made her mouth dry, and she wasn’t used to the butterflies sending her heart crashing in her ribcage and her stomach flipping.

Nervous butterflies were something she could handle. But this? She’d never felt this before. So she responded the way she always did when faced with something new.

 “Why are you taking so long?” she demanded, frustrated.

He merely smiled at her temper and held her there. “Savoring the moment.”

 “Just get on with it,” she growled, eyes flashing.

For a moment, she felt she’d let too much slip as his rustic eyes studied her. He seemed to come to a decision after a moment, all the while his thumbs still stroking her jaw. “Just relax,” he murmured.

Those weather worn hands traveled a little higher, his thumbs now settling over her cheekbones. He moved closer. This time, she did take a step back. He followed. The butterflies returned, louder than they had been before. As her breathing increased, she could feel the rise and fall of her chest as it pressed against his.

The anticipation was killing her. None of his actions were familiar to her. At least with the other men she could predict what they would do, but he was an utter mystery.

Finally, he leaned in closer until his lips chastely touched hers. Her breath rushed through her lungs at the contact, but he simply held her there, letting his lips rest against hers. She watched his closed eyes, not sure what to think. Slowly, he retreated, eyes opening and staring into hers.

Just as when she’d first saw him, his eyes were fire. She felt it kindle deep in her bones and let it simmer and grow. Never, in all her exploits, had she actually been kissed. She could feel the tension in his body – he was more keyed up than his voice let on – but all he had done was kiss her chastely. Rukia couldn’t even describe how the difference made her feel. But it was good and somehow soothing to her raw soul.

 “Okay?” he asked quietly.

Nodding quickly, Rukia took a chance. She swallowed, then lifted her limp hands and hesitantly rested them on his chest. He sucked in a breath and glanced at them. Mustering all the bravery she could, she spoke.

 “One more?”

His eyes ignited, and this time, his response was faster. He leaned in quickly and caught her mouth, his eagerness pushing her back the few inches needed for her to be flush against the rough wood of the saloon’s exterior.

The press of his body and the heat of his mouth sparked the butterflies fluttering around her stomach. His mouth was more insistent, and she matched him, her tongue caressing the inside of his bottom lip. He groaned. It sent pleasing tingles down her spine and left her gasping for air. One hand slid down to her waist, and his circling thumb sent bolts of pleasure racing along her skin. The other still cupped her face.

When he pulled away, they were both panting.

 “Please tell me you want to—that is I would like to—only if you want—” he stuttered breathlessly.

A silent promise to herself had been made: no more men today. Usually, she held herself to that. But there was _something_ about this cowpoke. He didn’t look rich, but she didn’t have to steal from him. She could just enjoy herself, if all of her reactions to him so far were any indication that time with him would be very pleasurable.

He pressed closer, the heat of his body stifling in the evening heat. She swallowed, licked her lips, and looked up at him. His body jerked slightly, and his lips parted, eyes heatedly traveling to her lips again.

 “Say something,” he pleaded.

She licked her lips again and felt power and pleasure at the sharp breath she heard him take. “Yes,” she said impulsively.

 “Uh…” He blinked, taken aback. “Really?”

 “Yes,” she said, this time more insistently.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her stumbling along after him. She laughed at his eagerness, and he flashed her a smile that stunned her. If he’d been attractive before, it was nothing compared to him with that smile on his face. Well, she’d make him smile a lot more before the night was over.

Rukia sent a silent thank you up above as he darted towards his hotel room, not even wondering about where the deed would take place. Just as well. It would make leaving easier. He shut and locked the door, then turned around and stared at her.

Despite the passion they had shared, she felt suddenly awkward under his gaze. She shifted her weight nervously. “Well?” Her hands moved to the buttons in the back of her dress, but she stopped at a sharp command from him.

 “Just… Just wait.” In two long, slow strides he was in front of her, amber eyes glowing like hot coals. Fingertips started at her right wrist before gently sliding up her arm, past the sleeves on her dress and caressing the bare skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He leaned down, breath hot in her ear. She shivered.

 “I haven’t asked your name yet.”

 “Rukia.” She didn’t even think to use an alias. She was too distracted by his hands moving between her shoulder blades, carefully unbuttoning her dress. His knuckles brushed the ridges of her spine, and her body trembled. The fire that had merely been ignited was now in full flames, and she could do little to stop it.

No man had ever taken his time like this. No man had ever made her feel this wild, and she couldn’t completely blame it on the whiskey.

Usually, she let the men lead, satisfy their urge to see her naked before pawing at her. Her only way to get them where she wanted was to give them pleasure she was sure they’d never had before, and before long they were eating out of the palm of her hand.

Never had she actually _wanted_ to take initiative, to start this simply because the lust was blazing inside of her. She held her breath, waited until he popped the last button with another brush of his knuckles. His hands spread up her back, and without knowing it her head fell back and a moan left her lips. His hands snagged at the delicate satin of her dress as he pushed it off of her shoulders.

Rukia whirled around and pushed him away, ignoring the look of confusion on his face. She quickly stepped out of her dress and followed, pushing him down on the bed. He’d already taken off his vest and button-down shirt – when, she had no idea. Her hands expertly tugged the thin white undershirt out of his pants and rolled it over his head as her hands slid up his taut abdomen.

He groaned, but didn’t take his eyes off of her except for the split second it took to get the shirt over his head. She breathed out slowly as she finally looked at him in the dim light. Damn, he was a good one. He was completely fit, and she let herself appreciate him for a few moments. Even the dusting of light hairs covering his chest were good-looking. She’d seen many men with _too_ much hair, and it got all over her. It was definitely not pleasant.

As her hands began tugging at his belt buckle, she continued mapping out his chest with her eyes. 

 “Hey. Hey, wait. Slow down,” he murmured, but she could see he was conflicted. Besides, she wanted to do this. It was probably one of the few times she’d be able to have a man this good-looking, and she wanted, for once in her life, to have her way with one.

 “Relax,” she said, biting her lip and giving him her best shy-but-insanely-curious look from under her lashes. It worked. He groaned and swallowed, and near her searching hands she felt him jump. She grinned inwardly. Now this she knew how to do. His slow attention was foreign, but this was familiar.

 “I haven’t asked your name.”

He let out a strained chuckle. “Ichigo.”

 “Ichigo,” she purred, and grinned at his corresponding moan.

Rukia pulled his pants down just enough, taking the long johns with them. Her eyes, still focused on his, broke the connection to follow the trail of hair down to his erection. Heat enveloped her body in a hot flush, and her heart stuttered. It was rather average compared to the other men she’d serviced. She hoped to God he would be this different with everything.

 “Whoa, wait. What’re you…?”

Ichigo had managed to push himself up on his elbows, but she didn’t even let him finish his sentence before she fitted him into her mouth. His body jerked, a shout wrenching from his throat.

 “Fuck,” he cursed.

What her mouth couldn’t fit she wrapped one hand around, the other coming up to play with his testicles. Slowly, she moved up and down, watching him, looking at the expressions that flitted onto his face with every move she made.

He mesmerized her. She’d never wanted anyone like she did this man. She hadn’t ever known she could _want_ to do this for someone. But his body shivered beneath her ministrations, his hands shaking softly where they cupped her shoulder and burrowed into her hair, and she thrilled at the power she held over him.

She pushed her tongue into the ridge below his foreskin, and Ichigo nearly bucked her off the bed with a strangled shout. Both hands squeezed, and she heard him panting. She grinned even as she hummed around his length in her mouth.

 “Oh shit.” His body had a film of sweat that shimmered in the lamplight, and Rukia couldn’t help but admire him more. “Damn it, stop. Stop! I can’t… I won’t…”

Her mouth released him, but her hands still stroked. “You can,” she whispered huskily. “Just wait and see.”

Ichigo wasn’t able to get another word in before she attacked him with greater ferocity. He writhed beneath her before suddenly shouting again, hips stuttering as he released into her mouth and onto his belly when she pulled away. She pumped him in time with his ejaculations, prolonging his orgasm until there was nothing left.

Rukia wiped her mouth on a corner of the sheets, eyes dark and staring at Ichigo. She was breathing just as hard as he was, and there was a boneless, satiated look to his body that she decided she liked seeing very much.

 “Sorry. You shouldn’t…have done…that,” he mumbled, but the contented smile on his face contradicted his words. “How…the fuck…did you learn…to do that?”

Rukia smirked, crawling over him. His eyes tracked her movements as if they were a pair of ravenous wolves.

 “I’m sure you’ve got more in you.”

He grinned and moved quickly, flipping her onto her back. Her eyes widened. Already? Most men had taken much longer. But she quickly felt that he wasn’t ready yet; he simply looked over her, popping the bow of her small, modest corset. A light eyebrow rose, and she shrugged.

 “I don’t have much, so I don’t need much.”

Most corsets were bulky, thick and heavy. But she had a small chest and a small waist, so she didn’t see the need to get a bigger one.

Ichigo shook his head, and slowly spread the corset open. “What you have is perfect,” he whispered, and Rukia swallowed difficulty. He was throwing her again with the compliments.

 “R-Really?” she whispered, and silently cursed herself for her hesitant question.

But Ichigo didn’t seem to mind. He put his head closer to her abdomen, brushing his lips lightly across as he whispered, “I’ll show you.”

She trembled.

No man had ever spoken to her like this. No man had ever slowly unrolled the stockings from her feet as if she were made of glass. No man had such passion in his eyes yet touched her with such gentleness. He was a body of contradictions, this Ichigo, and he made her want to let go.

Her body shivered with new feeling. There was no love, not in this short amount of time, but Rukia wasn’t about to delude herself that she didn’t feel gratitude towards this man.

 “Why are you trembling?” he asked.

She merely shook her head.

He froze, suddenly reeling back. “You’re not a… You’ve done this before… right?”

This time she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The horrified look on his face relaxed.

 “Oh, thank God. You had me going there for a second, darlin’.” The smile he sent her chipped away at the crags around her heart.

 “I’m just…”

 “Ah,” he said after a moment. “I see.” And it looked like he really did. How could he seem to read her so well? She’d done this so many times and yet now she felt awkward and clumsy and…afraid. This suddenly felt way too intimate.

Ichigo hummed and traced his lips further down, removing her skirt as he did so. She could feel him, half-hard against her calf already, and felt dizzy with need. Once her skirts were off he kissed the inside of her thigh. Heat pooled low and hot and Rukia groaned at the feeling. She’d never been this aroused in her life.

His nose brushed her curls, and Rukia fought not to cry out.

 “Ah, Rukia,” Ichigo moaned, and her heart jerked in her chest. No one had ever said her name before. At least, not her _real_ name.

 “Ichigo,” she panted back.

 _To hell with this_ , she thought. She didn’t care if most men liked it when she remained still. This overwhelming _need_ to move burned like a wildfire in her blood. One hand remained on the sheet, but the other came up, twisting in Ichigo’s orange-looking hair and tugging.

 “Shit.” The word was rough through Ichigo’s throat, and she felt his arm move.

Rukia arched off the bed as his mumbled curse sent hot breath fanning over her core, and she couldn’t help the command in her voice.

 “Do something.”

 “Yes, ma’am.” She could even feel him smirking against her. And then his tongue slowly brushed her folds. She keened, her hips bucking. Ichigo placed a large hand across her hip bone, holding her in place as he continued to use his tongue on her as she had done for him. She shook under his ministrations, lost in a haze of pleasure that she had never felt before.

Occasionally, she had met the rare woman that had told of the pleasures she could have – if the man knew what he was doing. She had never believed them until now, as she cried out again when Ichigo’s tongue flicked against her. His other hand that wasn’t holding her hip caressed her inner thigh, soft, light touches that dragged the callouses of his fingertips against the sensitive skin.

She couldn’t even warn him before her orgasm overwhelmed her, dimly aware of the breathless sounds wrenched from her throat. The pleasure spiked through her, and her back arched when Ichigo still pressed his tongue to her sensitive flesh. As her limbs went boneless, her fingers jerked. She hadn’t even been aware that one hand had been tugging relentlessly at Ichigo’s hair and the other had dug her nails into the thick muscles at his shoulders until her arms fell limp onto the mattress.

Ichigo shifted, moving up her body. She could feel him, hot and heavy against her hip, but his movements were deliberate, careful. A large hand cupped her face as he leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips until she was the one that moved into him, her tongue languidly stroking his. They stayed that way for a few moments, until Rukia wasn’t sure what he was planning on doing.

“Come on,” she murmured, digging her nails into his back and scratching as she hooked a leg over his hips, bringing him down harshly until he was once against flush with her. He ripped his mouth from hers, groaning, burying his head in the hollow of her throat and laving kisses there.

“Rukia…” he whispered, his voice unsteady. It sent a thrill through her. “I—”

His voice cut off when she bumped her hips up into his. His whole body tensed.

“Ichigo,” she whispered, the one hand lightening its touch on his back, dancing up his spine while the other one carded through his thick hair. He shuddered. “Ichigo, please.” The sharp puff of air against her neck sent goosebumps racing down her spine. “Ichigo.” This time she sighed his name, and he quickly reared up, crushing his mouth to hers.

“Alright. Alright, Rukia.”

She dropped the leg keeping his hips against her as he aligned himself with her core, his eyes intensely focused on hers as he pushed in. The air left her lungs in a sharp exhale, and Ichigo paused, concern flitting over his face momentarily until her hands pulled at him and she hooked both legs around his hips. A groan left his lips as he seated himself fully.

There had been many men. Men who were excited about the prospect of lone pleasure without having to pay an arm and a leg for a saloon girl. Men who had touched her harshly, with wicked pleasure, and she found her revenge by stealing from them – sometimes even more than their coin. She had thought with surety that that was it – that only men gained pleasure. She’d been wrong.

Nothing could have prepared her for this. Nothing could have prepared her for the way Ichigo murmured to her when he paused, his hands a light, tingling caress of her skin, his lips and tongue kissing her in between his words, her belly fluttering with want, her heart swelling as she listened to everything he said.

His mouth searched hers as he pulled out before snapping his hips forward. Pleasure arced through her body, and she moaned, meeting him thrust for thrust. With every push of his hips she felt him wrap around her, insert himself near a part of her heart that she had reserved for people that had shown her kindness – a rare commodity in hard times like these. He was so different from any other man she’d met, and he’d treated her with respect when most men – and just as many women – hadn’t.

Ichigo’s movements were faster, more erratic, and she knew he was close. She was close too, and after a hard thrust, Rukia cried out, her orgasm shaking her once again. This one was softer, less like breaking apart and more like a wave of pleasure cresting through her. Ichigo tensed above her, her name on his lips as he pulled out suddenly, spending himself on the sheets. His arms trembled with the effort of keeping himself from collapsing on top of her, but she gently tugged him down, welcoming the weight.

They panted heavily, and before long Ichigo rolled to his side, his long arms winding around her and pressing her back flush against his front. His nose nuzzled the bumps in her spine, and he pressed a contented kiss to the back of her neck. Her heart clenched. She fervently wished she could have something like this – they barely knew each other so there was no love – but there was tenderness and care and passion, and those things just didn’t seem to be in the cards for her.

But she wanted to hold on to the possibility just a little bit longer, so as his breathing evened out, she let herself doze with him.

 _Present_ …

Rukia fidgeted as Ichigo continued to stare at her. She hated the feeling his stare brought, so she growled at him.

 “Stop staring at me!”

He shook himself out of his thoughts and sighed. The gun dropped to the mattress, and Rukia had the fleeting idea to make a run for it. But his fingers still gripped the six-shooter, and it would be plain stupid for her to try.

 “I don’t want to turn you in, Rukia. Las night was…”

She flushed angrily. “You don’t want to imprison me because I was a good lay? Is that it?”

Ichigo snorted. “What? No, that wasn’t what I was trying to…” He exhaled sharply and shot her a glare. “Forget it.”

 “Not likely. I thought you were better than that. Obviously not. Was it because I was free?” she snarled. Anger roiled thick and acrid in her stomach. She was furious – not just at him but at herself. She was used to being the user, not the victim. And she hated the bitter taste it left on her tongue.

 “Hey, free has nothing to do with it! And I am better than that!”

 “Oh, sure. You just happened to fall on top of me.”

 “You agreed! I didn’t take anything you didn’t offer or demand.” His nostrils flared. “If you hadn’t decided to steal from me, then you could’ve been long gone by now.”

 “Well, I didn’t end up stealing anything, so why don’t you let me go?”

He scowled. “I’m a US Marshall and you’ve admitted to stealing. I can’t just let you go now.”

She felt the bile rise to the back of her throat, and panic sent an icy chill down to her fingertips. “You’re not going to keep me… I won’t let you. I’ll fight and… and…” she swallowed difficultly. “You’ll have to kill me before I let you make me a… a sex slave.”

Ichigo’s face paled. “A sex slave? What? God…” He ran a hand through his hair, looking horrified. “How could you think that of me? What the hell did I do last night to ever give you that impression?”

Rukia barely breathed and flushed. “N-Nothing.” She remembered how gentle, how attentive he’d been – she wasn’t likely to forget that anytime soon. He’d been the only one to ever do that, and it had nearly made her cry. She saw him waiting, and picked at her already-short nails.

 “A man I stole from… He threatened.” She didn’t dare look at Ichigo’s face. “I had a sleeping agent with me, and I slipped it to him. I left as soon as I could. I ran, and for a while I stopped. But I needed…” She huffed. He wouldn’t understand the rest.

He touched her hands, and her eyes snapped to his as she recoiled from his touch. She hadn’t even heard him get so close. He looked hurt, but didn’t move away.

 “I’m not like that, Rukia. Those are the types of men that I hunt. They’re vile and disgusting.” Between the look on his face and the tone of his voice, Rukia knew Ichigo was telling the truth.

 “Look,” he continued. “I’ve… I’ve got to at least take you to Missoula. That’s where you’re wanted.”

She nodded, eyes watering in relief. Dammit, she couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. But that man’s threat had suddenly seemed so real, and after Ichigo had negated that notion of himself all the fight had left her body.

 “I’ve got to, Rukia. Er… Sally?”

 “Rukia.”

He nodded. “Rukia.”

Her eyes flew to his as he sounded out her name. It was the exact same why he had said her name last night, and a tremor slithered through her body.

Ichigo shifted, placing his elbows on his knees. “Look, Rukia, I… I have to. It’s the right thing to do.”

His eyes searched out hers, and she fought the urge to let out a bitter laugh. The right thing to do would have been not to sleep with her. But he had asked, and she had given him permission. He really hadn’t done anything wrong, and surprisingly, she wasn’t angry at his determination to turn her in. He at least had a sense of justice that few men she’d met did, and she could respect that.

 “I’ll go,” she said quietly, picking at her nails again. “I won’t give you any problems so long as we stop in Rukongai. I have to see – someone.” She faltered on the last word, but couldn’t doubt the resolve he saw in her eyes.

Still, a suspicious look crossed his face.

It was the only thing Rukia could think of, and she took the gamble. “If you let me stop in Rukongai, I swear on my mother’s grave that I won’t try to escape as far as you will take me.” So maybe that last part wasn’t the wisest thing to say, but Ichigo’s whole countenance changed. He swallowed, looked away from her, and looked back.

 “Okay.”

And that was all.

Within half an hour, they were standing outside the hotel. Ichigo looked around and turned back to Rukia. “Where’s your horse?”

Rukia looked away. “I…borrowed…one a few towns back. I left it in a stable with a note to be returned to its previous owner.” She lifted her chin. “I took the stagecoach here.”

Ichigo scratched the back of his head. “I was hopin’ you’d have your own.”

She shot him a calculating look. “Why?”

 “Zangetsu is not really the best horse for a lady to ride.”

Her eyebrow arched.

 “Well, look at him!” Ichigo huffed, pointing to a horse standing a few feet from him. Rukia nearly gave herself whiplash.

The horse was mid-sized, but still much bigger than any she’d ever ridden. He was so black his coat nearly gleamed blue, and he stared intently at a few horses tied across the street. There was no doubt he was a beautiful animal, but Rukia fervently hoped the bright-eyed horse didn’t have any ideas about tossing her off.

 “Is he…?” She motioned with her hands.

Immediately, Ichigo flushed. “No! You expect me to make _him_ unable to breed?”

The stallion arched his neck and called. Only one horse answered.

 “Yes, that would be a shame.” Rukia smiled wistfully. He really was a beautiful horse. She might not be too well-acquainted with horses, but she could ride fairly well and had always admired their power and beauty.

Ichigo cleared his throat. “Which way is Rukongai?”

Rukia knew she would regret it, but she said, “It’s on the way to Missoula. A little more than halfway, I think.”

He nodded. “Shall we, then?”

 “If I must.”

Instead of being angry, the orange haired Marshall flashed her a smirk over his shoulder. “You okay with riding behind me?”

 “I’ll have to be.”

 “Right then.”

He swung easily and swiftly into the saddle, then kicked his left foot out of the stirrup and stretched down a hand towards her. Her legs were much shorter than his, and she fumbled slightly to get her leg over the black stallion’s thick rump. Reaching down his other arm, Ichigo hitched her up behind him as if she weighed nothing. Rukia gasped, swallowing, and hating the fact that her heart sped.

 “Hold on,” he whispered. Her arms encircled her waist, and she was glad that he felt like a rock. At Ichigo’s command, the stallion leaped forward, eager to finally be going somewhere. Rukia squeaked at the sudden momentum. Thankfully, after a few minutes, her body settled into the horse’s rhythmic canter.

She supposed she should be thankful Rukongai was on the way to Missoula, but she couldn’t lie to herself. She couldn’t be happy, not when soon after she would have to leave behind the only thing important to her.

 “Are you alright?” Ichigo asked above the wind after a few miles.

Rukia nodded, but she couldn’t speak. The closer they cantered toward Rukongai, the worse she felt. Her tongue swelled and glued her mouth shut. What would she say? But no matter how hard she searched, there was nothing she could say.

Before she knew it, Rukongai loomed in front of her. What should have been a five-hour ride only felt as if one had passed. Her heart thumped in her throat, and she barely managed to tell Ichigo to go to the mission at the outskirts of town. Her limbs seized as Zangetsu halted.

Ichigo jumped off first, then held his long arms out to catch her. Clumsily, she swung her leg over the saddle, and once again caught her breath when he so easily set her down. It loosened the lump lodged in her throat, and she swallowed. Her stomach already twisted, and it flipped even more.

What would he say about her? She knew what most thought. Despite what she had done, she still felt the staggering sting of calculated words. But Ichigo had a sense of honor that commanded respect, and after last night, a few pieces of his character fit together. She suddenly panicked at what he would think of her.

She wasn’t a bad person – she didn’t want to steal. Necessity had driven her to desperation. She had known if she were to work at the saloon she would never break free of it. She knew it deep in her bones. This was the only way to remain free without sacrificing more than she was willing to give. She wasn’t remorseful for being caught. She was simply nauseated at the lies she needed to tell now.

Ichigo’s gaze on her back stiffened her spine. He followed two steps behind until he opened the heavy oak door for her. She stepped inside and her heart beat erratically in its cage. The kind, older matron knew her instantly.

 “Rukia! What a pleasant surprise to see you so soon. Hisana will be ecstatic.”

Rukia swallowed. “How are you, Isane?”

The nun smiled indulgently. “Oh, just fine. These bones haven’t given up on me yet.” She glanced at Ichigo, and her smile faltered.

 “Oh. Good.” Rukia looked back at him, and she could see the dawning comprehension on his face.

 “Rukia?”

 “I’m sorry, Isane.” She inhaled deeply. “Please tell Hisana I’m here to see her.”

 “Of course.”

Isane left quietly, even though Rukia knew she was dying to ask more questions. It didn’t help that she could feel Ichigo’s hard stare at her back, but it all disappeared when she saw that face burst through the back door.

 “Rukia!”

She knelt quickly with a watery smile and held out her arms. The little ball of energy nearly toppled her over, but Rukia just barely caught her balance.

 “Oh, Hisana. I missed you, baby. I missed you so much.”

Hisana let go, her dark eyes glowing. “Is it time, Kia? Did you make it?”

Tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Rukia almost didn’t tell her the truth. But Hisana needed to know. “No, darling. I didn’t. I won’t be able…to come by for a while, baby. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

 “What does that mean?” Hisana was the perfect picture of childish confusion. She was desperately going to miss that precious face.

Her hands clutched Hisana’s shoulders. “It means you won’t see me for quite some time. Maybe years. Maybe…” Her voice cracked. “Maybe never.”

 “No,” Hisana said quietly. She backed away and finally seemed to notice Ichigo. She inhaled shakily, and her little hands clenched into fists. “Who are you? You’re here to take my sister, aren’t you?” Two tiny tears fell from her eyes. “Well you can’t! You can’t have her! She’s supposed to get me out of here! We’re supposed to get a house and grow vegetables and sell them! You can’t have her!” she shouted.

 “Hisana! Hisana, stop! Stop, baby,” Rukia cried, rushing forward and embracing her little sister. All the while Hisana sobbed, and Rukia could swear she felt her chest crack.

 “He can’t, sis. He can’t take you.”

 “I’ll come back, Hisana,” Rukia sniffled. “I swear to you: I’ll come back.”

Hisana shook her head sadly. “You can’t promise that.”

Damn. When did her sister grow up so fast? She sniffled again, resentment burning in her gut. She had desperately hoped the last time she would probably see her sister wouldn’t be tearful. She couldn’t help it. One tear slipped out of her eye, and she glanced at Ichigo.

Ichigo shifted before suddenly straightening. “Wait here. I’ll be back in three days.”

 “Hey, wait!” She murmured a quick, “Stay here,” to Hisana before rushing after him. “Ichigo!” she called.

But he vaulted onto his big black horse and tipped his hat to her. “I’ll be back.”  He kicked his horse into a gallop and disappeared into a cloud of dust.

It wasn’t until he’d vanished into the horizon that Rukia realized he’d taken all of her clothes with him. She grumbled and crossed her arms over her chest.

 “Damn bastard.”

00000

After a day and a half of hard riding to make it to Misoula, Ichigo was trail worn, dusty and definitely at the end of his patience. Not only had he been shot by a gang of bandits he’d been hunting for months – unfortunately, all had been shot except a low man on the totem pole who now occupied a jail cell – but he’d also been harassed by the saloon’s patron – a very busty woman that never ceased trying to get him to engage in a game of dead man’s hand. Well, he didn’t want to give up his money, and when she tried to persuade him to take one of her girls for a spin, he’d forcefully left the saloon.

He didn’t want any of them. He wanted the girl that punched bartenders and said was what on her mind and was demanding and sweet and loving. He wanted the woman that was smart and kept her word and protected her little sister.

Now, here he sat in front of the marshal and his deputy, trying very hard not to lose what little patience he had.

 “So… You found the girl. Congratulations,” Marshall Urahara said, inclining his head.

 “We established that,” Ichigo mumbled irritably.

 “Now, now, no need to get testy, Kurosaki. I simply want to know why she’s not with you.”

 “Some bandits ambushed us. They shot both of us.”

 “And you didn’t think to bring her body back here?” Urahara’s deputy shouted. His face quickly matched his red hair.

 “And haul all that dead weight with me while I’m trying to the bandit from escaping _and_ stop bleeding after I’ve been shot? You’re crazier than I thought, Jinta.”

The man flushed, but Urahara chuckled. “Right you are, Kurosaki.”

 “Damn straight I am. I brought her wigs back with me and corrected the picture.”

 “Oh?”

He didn’t like the knowing glint in Urahara’s grey eyes, but Ichigo placed the items on the Marshal’s desk. In fixing the picture, Ichigo had drawn her eyes closer together and her face less round. Small corrections that no one would notice too much, but it would make a difference if they ever ran into Rukia. Urahara merely raised an eyebrow.

Ichigo scowled. “Come on. The men were drunk when they ran into her. Everyone looks better once you’re drunk.”

 “Including you, Marhsal?” Urahara grinned. Ichigo was not amused.

 “Look, can I just have the reward money?”

Urahara deliberated for a moment. “Of course, Kurosaki. Jinta, bring the reward.”

 “But sir…” Jinta murmured.

 “It’s alright, Jinta. Kurosaki has always proven he’s trustworthy. He has brought us many hardened criminals that others could not find.”

Jinta huffed, but turned to the cabinet behind Urahara’s desk. The bag of coins clinked onto the desk, and Ichigo looked at his superior quizzically.

 “That’s too much, sir. Her reward is only two hundred dollars. There has to be more than that in there.”

 “There is. But you also get the reward for disbanding this man’s gang. There is also your yearly commission that has recently been issued to you. You could consider it as a Christmas of sorts.”

 “In July.”

 “Come now, Kurosaki! Don’t be such a stick in the mud! Now I know a man such as yourself must have lots of things he can do to occupy his time than to annoy the head Marshal on mere semantics.”

Ichigo frowned, cautiously retracting his hand and placing the bag of coins on his belt.

Urahara suddenly looked affronted. “Kurosaki, I am not going to shoot you in the back. You earned this. So take it.”

Finally, Ichigo stood, and tipped his hat. “Thank you, sir.” As he stepped out of the office, his heavy spurs clinked on the hardwood.

After both men listened to the fading hoof beats of Ichigo’s mount, Jinta spoke. “Why did you give him all that money, sir?”

 “It wasn’t anything he wasn’t owed. I merely gave it to him in one large sum.” Urahara steepled his hands and tapped his index fingers to his lips. “You’ve been around Kurosaki before, Jinta. How did he seem to you this time around?”

 “He seemed fidgety. And…he never usually asks for the reward money. He either tells us to keep it or we have to force it on him.”

 “Ah. A very astute observation, Jinta. You are right, of course. But he was he was also impatient. Kurosaki is a hard man to read, but give it time. So, given this knowledge, Jinta, what do you presume?”

 “We’re not supposed to presume, sir.”

 “Now you’re being just like Kurosaki!” Urahara pouted, and Jinta rolled his eyes. “Humor me,” Urahara continued, leaning forward in his chair. “So, what do you presume?”

Jinta sighed, sat down and rubbed his temples. “Kurosaki was having a bad day?”

 “You’re not even trying, Jinta! Now give me a good idea.”

 “You’re going to keep asking me no matter what I do, aren’t you?”

Urahara grinned.

 “I hate being nosy,” Jinta grumbled. “Fine. Something was bothering him. He had a reason to actually ask for the reward money this time.”

 “Exactly! Now, what else happened?”

 “He brought in a bandit?”

 “No, no, no, Jinta! Think!” After a few moments of silence and Jinta’s annoyed stare, Urahara continued. “He made a point to show us her wigs as well as a ‘redone’ picture of her.”

Jinta jerked his eyes to Urahara’s. “Oh, no. I don’t want any part of your theories, Boss.” He made to stand before Urahara’s next sentence caused him to pause.

 “But I think he let her go!”

He paused, and when he looked back at the marshal, he groaned. Damn. He didn’t want to be intrigued. “But you yourself said Kurosaki was trustworthy; why’d you give him the money if you think he let her go?”

 “Don’t you see, Jinta? She didn’t get shot. Kurosaki has an impossibly straight moral compass. Either the woman was innocent or she was in a lot of trouble that required her to steal. She was never shot and killed at all.” Urahara sat back with a grin, clearly pleased with himself.

 “But that doesn’t explain why you gave him the money.”

 “Oh, Jinta, it was so clear! He was obviously a man in love. He was going to propose! We wouldn’t be seeing her anymore nor Ichigo for a while. He’s going to propose, and he’ll need the money to buy her things. Or her hand. I’m not sure any woman in her right mind would willingly say ‘yes’ to him…”

 “Ah, come on, Boss; that’s bullshit! Kurosaki is _not_ getting married. Sure, he was impatient but it had nothing to do with proposing.”

 “And that is why I am the head marshal – not you. Because I’m right.”

 “You are not!”

 “Am, too!”

 “Oh, good Lord! How the hell do you even know what a man about to propose looks like?” By now, Jinta’s face once again matched his fiery hair.

Urahara grinned conspiratorially. “That, Jinta, is something you will never know.”

Jinta’s groan of frustration could be heard all the way out to the street.

00000

 “Miss Rukia! Miss Rukia!”

Rukia practically sprinted into the front room of the orphanage at the sound of Isane’s voice. She’d been waiting three goddamned days and she was sick of sitting here. A large part of her had wanted to leave, to run, but she had promised the marshal that she wouldn’t, and if she had nothing else she at least kept her word. Of course, she loved the time spent with her sister, but there was only so much of Isane she could take. Every time a curse word accidentally slipped she’d receive the Sister’s glare.

 “What is it?” she called.

 “That man that came with you before – on that black horse?” Isane gestured outside the window. “Well, he’s riding this way.”

 “Finally! Well, I’ll give him what he deserves, that insufferable, damnable bast—” Her eyes shot over to Isane, and Rukia swallowed the rest of her curse. “Ah, excuse me, Isane.”

She was damn glad Hisana was able to stay here, but Rukia had a feeling that she definitely did not belong in a Catholic orphanage. So she hurried outside just as Ichigo pulled his horse to a stop.

 “What the hell was that all about – leaving me here? And what took you so long?” Rukia growled when Ichigo remained unmoving. His head was right in the sun, giving his orange hair an extra fiery halo. She was forced to shield her eyes with a hand. “Would you quit sitting there and get off that damn nag?”

 “Miss Rukia!”

She groaned and called back, “Sorry, Isane!”

But as she stared at him, her frustration grew. She’d had three days of relative freedom, yet all she could think about was him. Most of those thoughts revolved around worst-case scenarios when he came back – whether he was dragging a posse of sheriffs or put her in shackles. But the smaller thoughts centered around the little things – how polite he’d been, how gently he’d handled her even after their tryst.

But the thought that had haunted her the most had been the image of his face just before he’d left. Both she and Hisana had reflected in his eyes, and she couldn’t unsee his look of horrific understanding. Like he had actually known and understood why. No one else ever had, or even tried, and she’d realized just how lonely and desperate she’d been for someone to talk to – any type of friend.

Slowly, he dismounted. “I rented a small horse and buggy in town. Grab Hisana. I’m taking you with me.”

 “Where?” She said harshly, crossing her arms as panic caused her voice to waver.

 “Well, not to the law if that’s what you mean.”

 “Then where?”

 “Just…somewhere!” he grumbled, extremely uncomfortable. “Now, would you get her?”

Indignation rose in Rukia’s chest. “Is this because of pity? Because I don’t want pity, Ichigo.”

 “It’s not,” he said defensively, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, so it sorta is, but I’ve been thinking about it for the past three days. And I want to do this because it’s the right thing to do. And…” He exhaled heavily. “It reminds me of my sisters. Thankfully, nothing like this has happened to them, but… separation is hard. I’d never want something like this to happen to them. So I’m trying to prevent that from happening to you and your sister.”

Rukia fidgeted, trying to desperately to keep Ichigo’s words from affecting her but failing. A look had come into his eyes when he’d mentioned his sisters – regret perhaps – and Rukia was no stranger to it. Perhaps since he couldn’t bridge the gap with his sisters, this was his way of preventing the same thing from happening to her and Hisana. Later, if she got the chance, she’d ask him about his sisters.

She turned, eyes searching for her sister. Isane stood there with her hands on Hisana’s shoulders. Her baby sister’s face looked fierce, like if Ichigo were to make one wrong move against Rukia, Hisana would retaliate.

 “Hisana?” Rukia called.

The little girl bounded over and stood in front of Rukia. “Is he being mean, sis?” she asked.

 “No. But if he is, I’ll let you handle him.” She smiled softly, and hesitated. “Hisana… He’s offered us a place to go – a place where we could finally live together again. Would you like that?”

Her face lit up, but Hisana still said, “Do you trust him, sis?”

Ichigo’s eyes flicked to hers, and the intensity in his rusty eyes made her swallow. He wanted to know just as much as Hisana did.

Rukia looked him right in the eye. “I do.”

 “Then I trust you.”

 “Go pack your things, then. We’ll leave now.”

 “Now?” Hisana asked.

Rukia nodded, her eyes tearing at the heartbreakingly hopeful expression on Hisana’s face.

Her baby sister whooped, then raced back to the orphanage. “Isane, Isane! Guess what?” Hisana’s voice faded from hearing range as she bounded through the double doors, Isane on her heels.

Slowly, Rukia looked back at Ichigo. “Why are you doing this? Honestly.”

 “I told you honestly before,” he huffed.

A corner of her mouth quirked. “I know. But I want to know more.”

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. “I’m tired of being on the road – always traveling. I became a marshal to track down criminals so I could help keep my sisters safe. The things these men have done…” He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to be around that anymore. I went home recently, and I missed the… It was whole, you know? Peaceful. I hadn’t realized I’d missed it so much. So I’m going to try to give that to you and your sister, and try to find some peace for myself while I’m at it."

Rukia felt her throat close. “You’d do that?”

He scowled darkly. “I’m not like those men, you know. I’ve told you that already.”

 “That wasn’t what I meant.” She hurried to clarify. “I meant that…with everything I’ve been through, kindness is very difficult to come by. When someone does show it… I’ve learned to doubt.” She smiled sadly. “A stranger rarely shows kindness as you have, especially after I tried to steal from you.”

 “When I saw your sister, I knew exactly why you did it, because I would have done the same thing for my sisters.” He shook his head, and fumbled in his pocket. His large hand grasped a small canvas bag, and he held it out to her. “This is yours. I took out my bonus and reward, but that’s your reward money – all two hundred dollars of it.”

 “What?”

Ichigo nodded. “Someone put up an awful lot of cash for a reward if you were caught. I figure you deserve it. I have more than enough. That’ll be for anything you and Hisana want.” He reddened. “Of course, you can ask me for anything you need, too.”

She blinked, desperately trying to keep her tears at bay. She exhaled shakily. “I won’t thank you.”

He smirked slightly. “You don’t have to.”

 “Where…” She swallowed. “Where will we be staying?”

 “There’s a little town two days west of here called Karakura. Have you been that way?”

She shook her head. “I always tried to stay closer to Rukongai so I could see Hisana every once in a while.”

 “That’s good. Then they won’t recognize you. My family lives there. Ten or so miles away is my homestead. It’s finished; I just haven’t lived there in a while. But I was thinking you could stay there…with me.”

Rukia smiled at the bashful look on his face – this man that had managed to love her better than anyone else she’d known. Perhaps he just didn’t have much success talking to women.

But she snorted at his words. “You’d need to marry me first. I’m not so easy, sir.” She smirked.

He didn’t smile back. “Would you? Marry me, that is.”

 “Ha!” she laughed, but as she looked closer, she could see the truth on his face. “Oh, my God. You’re serious.”

If it were possible, his face got redder. “I don’t joke about these types of things!”

She sent him a sidelong glance. “Why do you want to marry me?”

 “Oh, come on. That was the best night I’ve ever had, and you seemed to enjoy yourself if I may say so,” he said, and Rukia grinned inwardly. _There_ was the confidence he’d exuded in the saloon. But she raised an eyebrow challengingly at him, and he started to smile sheepishly. “Okay so maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, but look. You don’t take any shit. You’re strong, determined and loyal. It’s obvious you love your family. I’ve never been interested in women that didn’t know themselves, that didn’t have morals, that liked to pander to men. My mom was never that way, and neither are my sisters.”

Rukia cleared her throat. “I stole, Ichigo.”

 “I know that!” he huffed. “But you did it because of your sister. That’s what an older sibling is supposed to do: take care of their family when they have to. That’s important.” He fidgeted. “To me.” He looked at her, and suddenly stepped forward, a little too close, but she wouldn’t move away. “Did you intend to steal from me? Be honest.”

 “No,” she said quietly, and she saw his eyes soften. “I agreed because I thought you would make it different.”

 “Did I?”

 “Yes. It was only after that I saw your money bag. I was desperate.” This time, it was she that reddened. She cleared her throat again. “The man before must have stolen some clothes or spent all his money, because he only had enough coins for the whiskey I bought that night I met you.” She looked more closely at him. “Are those the only reasons you want to marry me?”

He shrugged. “Well, I think we’ll be good together. I thought we were pretty good… _Are_ pretty good. But, more importantly, I think you could help me find the peace I’m looking for.”

Rukia couldn’t speak. She was, quite frankly, stunned. However, the longer the silence stretched on, the more Ichigo fidgeted.

 “I know it’s sudden and probably not how you imagined, but I swear we don't have to get married. And even if we did, if you don’t want to…to consummate the marriage I won’t press – I won’t expect you to – ”

 “Okay.”

He’d begun to pace, and stopped dead in his tracks. “Huh?”

 “I said okay.”

 “R-Really?”

 “Yes, Ichigo. There are a lot of men out there that are much worse than you.”

 “Wha—Hey!”

She let out a shaky laugh. “Ichigo, you’ve volunteered to care for my sister with no questions asked. Despite what I’ve done, you never seemed to judge me for my decisions, and that is something very few people have done. In offering to marry me, you’d not only be binding yourself to me, but you’d be sacrificing a lot just to give me and my sister a home. Marriage is a big deal. Without it, if you so choose, you could just get rid of us at any time. So thank you.”

 “Oh.”

 “And… I think… perhaps I can find peace with you as well.”

He smiled, truly smiled, and it radiated from him like the halo of the setting sun. It made her chest flutter.

 “Rukia!” Hisana shouted. Rukia turned around quickly as her sister ran up and enclosed her in a giant hug. Isane was right behind her.

 “She has everything, Miss Rukia.”

 “Thank you, Isane,” Rukia murmured, placing a hand on the Sister’s shoulder. “Oh! Let me pay you.”

 “No, Rukia. That is unnecessary.”

 “But…”

Isane smiled indulgently. “Hisana has always been a pleasure, and it’s rare to see a family member such as yourself to take care of her.”

Suddenly, much to Isane’s surprise, Rukia enveloped her in a fierce hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Thank you.”

 “Of course, Rukia.”

She released the woman and sniffed. “Maybe sometime I’ll come back with Hisana and visit.”

 “We’d like that. Hisana has always meant a lot to us.”

Hisana hid behind Rukia’s legs, uncomfortable with the praise. Rukia put a hand out and grasped Hisana’s smaller one.

Rukia cleared her throat and blinked. “I’ll never forget your kindness.”

Isane smiled. “Sister Unohana always says it takes nothing from a person to be kind to others. Just remember, Rukia: kindness is always freely given. Many people think us sisters weak for our kindness, but it is what makes us strong. You can fight against almost anything; however, you cannot fight against unrelenting kindness.” Isane paused for a moment and flushed. “I am sorry. My mouth runs away with me sometimes.”

Rukia smiled. “It’s alright. Thank you for the advice.” She looked back at Ichigo and he motioned his head towards his horse. “I think we should leave now. It’ll get dark soon.”

 “I wish you all the happiness in the world, Rukia. And you, too, sir. You take good care of her.”

Ichigo tipped his hat. “I will, ma’am.”

He hoisted Hisana into the saddle first, then jumped up behind. Rukia fumbled with placing her foot in the stirrup, but managed to grasp Ichigo’s hand. She just barely managed to get her leg over the saddle and grab Ichigo’s shirt before his strength nearly hauled her all the way off the other side of the horse.

 “You alright?” he asked.

 “Oh, yes,” Rukia murmured, releasing his shirt from her grip. She looked around him for Hisana, and found Ichigo’s arm wrapped protectively around her sister’s upper body. He whispered something to her, and Rukia strained her ears to hear.

 “Do you like horses?”

 “I don’t really know,” Hisana hedged, equally quiet.

 “Well, if you decide you do, maybe we can get you a pony.”

Hisana’s head whipped around, and she stared at Ichigo with wide eyes. “You mean that?”

 “I do.”

Her eyes dipped, then searched his again. “A bay one?”

Ichigo chuckled. “Sure. But you’ll have to take care of it. It’ll be your responsibility.”

 “I will. I promise.” Hisana nodded vigorously.

 “Alright then. Hold on.” He squeezed his legs and made a sound with his mouth similar to the cluck of a chicken. Zangetsu broke into a canter, and soon, Rukia grew accustomed to the rhythm.

She was glad Ichigo didn’t look back at her. She couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off of her face, but she didn’t care. At first glance, Ichigo looked just like the hardened marshal she’d met a few days ago. But now she knew better. He wasn’t just kind, but gooey. She chuckled to herself. Ichigo glanced back at her but she shook her head.

Rukia doubted Ichigo would like hearing her compare him to a marshmallow.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> So there you have it. How was it? Let me know if you liked it!


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